THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


EDGBASTON   HIGH  SCHOOL. 

->^- 

(Reference 

Presented  by: 


THE 


and 

Other  Poems 

By  Christine  Siebeneck  Swayne 


Boston:  Richard  G.  Badger 
(Sorb am 
*9°5 


Copyright  1905  by  CHRISTINE  SIEBENECK  SWAYNE 


All  rights  reserved 


PRINTED  AT 

THE  GORHAM   PRESS 

BOSTON,   U.  S.   A, 


PS 


CONTENTS 


THE  VISIONARY  ....  5 
THE  GOAL  OF  DREAMS  ...  7 
THE  THIN  VEIL  ....  8 

DAWN  .....  9 
THE  NEW  HOPE  .  .  .  .10 

THE  COMING  LETTER        .  .  .10 

LOVE  THE  GOLDSMITH       .  .  .11 

LOVE'S  PURVEYORS  .  .  .  .11 

You  AND  I  .  .  .  .  .12 

A  LOVER'S  RONDEAU  .  .  .12 

THE  DREAM  OF  A  Kiss       .  .  .13 

KEALAKEKUA  BAY  .  .  .14 

ILLICILLAWAET  GLACIER     .  .  .15 

LAZARUS  .....  15 
THE  FLET  WITE  .  .  .  .15 

BETWEEN  HERE  AND  THERE          .  .         16 

EXQUISITE  HANDS   .  .  .  .16 

WAIKIKI  BEACH      .  .  .  .17 

AN  UPRIGHT  JUDGE  .  .  .         18 

A  MOONLIT  GARDEN         .  .  .19 

DESERTED  PLACES   .  .  .  .20 

RONDEL  OF  HOPE    .  .  .  .20 

SEA  FOAM    .  .  .  .  .21 

FAILURE  .....  21 
THE  OTHER  SHORE  .  .  .22 

DEEP  IN  THE  WOODS          .  .  .22 

QUAKER  MEETING  .  .  .23 

CONQUERING  KINGS  .  .  .23 

ARIZONA      .  .  .  .  .24 


A  FOREST  FIRE       .            .  .  .        25 

LOST  ATLANTIS       .            .  .  .        25 

A  BALLADE  OF  DEAD  FASHIONS    .  .        26 

A  LITTLE  LOVE  SONG         .  .  .        27 

THE  PRAYING  PINES          .  .  .        27 

THE  QUEST  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  .        28 

THE  SMALL  HOURS           .  .  ,        29 

WE  DO  NOT  KNOW  .            .  .  .29 

MORNING,  NOON,  AND  NIGHT  ,  .        30 

THE  WORLD  FORGETTING   .  .  .31 

THE  WYWERN  ON  THE  GATE  POST  .        31 

AN  HAWAIIAN  AFTERNOON  .   '•  .        32 

THE  SQUINT           .            .  .  -33 

SINGING       .            .            .  .  .34 

THE  SATYRS            .            .  .                     35 

MELANCHOLIA        .            .  .  .36 

THE  REAR  GUARD              .  .  .        38 

LONGING     .            .            .  .  .        39 

THE  SPIRIT  MOVES            .  .  -39 

THE  SOUL  .            .            .  :         .  .        40 

A  SEA  SONG            .            .  -..  .41 

FALLEN  IDOLS         .            .  .  .41 

IN  THE  DUSK     '   .    ...  .  .42 

IF    .            .            .            .  .  .42 

THE  WOODLAND  THULE    .  .  .43 

SIMAETHA    .            .            .  .  .44 

COWARDICE              .            .  .  .45 

A  WHISPERED  LOVE  SONG  .  .  .46 

THE  DANCING  FAWN        .  .  .47 

LOVE-LIES-BLEEDING           .  .  .48 

THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  WASTE  LANDS  .        49 

THE  WINDOW         .             .  .  .50 

THE   GARGOYLE      .            .  .  .51 

A  TRUMPET  CALL  .            .  .  .52 

THE  PASSION  FLOWER        .  .  .52 


THE  VISIONARY 

And  Other  Poems 


THE  VISIONARY 
A  Portrait 

Within  his  blue,  brave  eyes  the  fire  of  hope 

Lights  younger  men  the  way  to  deathless  death; 

Upon  his  aged  lips  immortal  song, 

Exults  to  thrill  and  fill  the  ear  of  youth, 

While  from  that  slackening  heart  his  fruitful  faith 

Sows  all  the  world  he  loved,  as  one  huge  field, 

With  seed  of  mighty  harvesting  to  come. 

When  he  was  young  the  freedom  of  his  blood 
Drove  him  from  out  the  populous,  pent  herds, 
Who  multiply  within  those  ghettos  of  the  soul, 
Those  cramping  bounds,  Expedience  and  Use;  — 
Then  with  inspired,  uncalculating  joy 
He  rioted  among  traditions  of  the  great, 
Made  models  of  the  liberated  dead: 
He  saw  his  life  a  road  to  other  worlds, 
And  scorned  to  shape  a  mercenary  course ; 
Coined  gain  or  loss  he  never  paused  to  weigh, 
But  showed  a  glad  uncompromising  front, 
Betraying  utter  blindness  to  a  bribe, 
And  his  dire  inability  to  lie: 
He  sought  the  fiercest  battles  of  his  life 
With  no  pre-cognant,  careful  thought  of  self: 
He  never  left  a  harnessed  foe  unbacked, 
A  wrong  unharried  in  its  ancient  hold, 
Or  long-armed  sin  to  sow  in  dragons-teeth 
The  furrows  whence  a  mailed  host  should  spring. 
"Awake!  arise!  advance!  "  his  constant  cry: 
He  poured  himself  like  water  for  a  cause, 
He  spent  himself  like  treasure  for  a  hope  — 
Still,  when  he  feared  his  last  reserve  was  gone, 
There  rose  a  new  resourcefulness  within 


To  daunt  who  made  his  feebleness  his  snare :  — 
And  ever  and  again  when  all  seemed  lost, 
His  hopes  confounded  and  his  trust  betrayed, 
When  dreadful  doubt  destroyed  the  weak  in  faith, 
When  fear  clung,  throttling,  at  the  strongest  throat, 
When  mere  adherence  to  his  scourging  creed 
Provoked  the  wrath  of  Mammon  in  his  might, 
That  visionary  face  stood  out  stern  eyed 
Against  the  terrors  of  the  risen  storm ; 
His  hand  was  often  raised  in  lone  assault 
Upon  the  strongholds  of  corrupted  power :  — 
Again,  again,  and  shamefully  again, 
The  weaklings  fled,  deserting  him  from  fear, 
And  left  him,  bounden,  mid  envenomed  foes ; 
But  ever  from  his  exile  and  defeat 
He  came  returning  to  the  same  attack, 
While  those  who  fled,  recaptured  by  his  spell, 
Found  him,  as  ever,  willing  to  believe 
They  would  be  staunch  upholders  of  his  hands, 
And  equal  champions  of  the  outraged  Right. 

Ten  thousand  cares  have  pulled  that  knotted  brow, 
And  scoured  deep  the  wrinkles  in  his  cheek, 
While  sorrows  powerful,  beyond  power  to  count, 
Have  drawn  the  lips  to  that  straight,  suffering  line; 
Sure  signs  betray,  about  the  hopeful  eyes, 
The  loss  of  over-taxed  power  to  weep : 
This  is  the  meed  of  his  long,  dauntless  life, 
This  face  that  shows  the  scars  of  all  his  years ; 
And  yet  with  his  out-wearied  heart  within, 
That  eager  ring  of  grisly  foes  without, 
Behold  him !  with  his  high-veined  aged  hands 
Uphold  the  standard  that  he  raised  in  youth 
And  lift  his  metal-clear,  stentorian  voice 
Crying  on  men  to  follow  to  the  fight ! 


THE  GOAL  OF  DREAMS 

I  know  an  isle  that  very  truly  seems 
To  me  the  Goal  of  Dreams. 

Afar  may  swaying  masthead  lookout  hear 
The  surf  that  sings  of  fear ; 

Anigh  the  water  wearied  eye  may  reach 
Green  palms  upon  the  beach ; 

See  scar'd  and  weathered  ridges  greatly  rise, 
Mere  mounds  beneath  vast  skies; 

While,  mountains  massing  over  mountain  height, 
Lie  clouds,  in  morning  light ;  — 

There  weary  seamen  gorges  have  espied 
Where  little  homes  might  hide, 

Where,  ceaseless,  thro'  the  silent  summer  days 
The  scented  zephyr  plays 

Through  fronding  fern  and  feathery  fairy  vine 
That  clothe  the  rock  incline : 

The  whiff  of  Eden  barely  may  compare, 
To  that  sweet  laden  air: 

There  errant  fancy,  long  content  to  roam, 
Might  bide,  and  be  at  home. 

Or  strong  winged  dreamer,  winning  to  the  shore, 
Might  dwell  forevermore. 


How  shall  I  speak  of  facts  beyond  all  phrasing? 

How  can  I  word  things  utterly  unknown; 
That  unbeheld  by  any  eager  gazing, 

All  unexplained,  unheeded,  and  unknown? 

Have  we  not  all  stretched  hands  of  dreadful  groping, 
Blindly  inquiring  where  the  road  might  lead, 

Sick,  to  the  ford  have  felt  the  pathway  sloping, 
Greatly  despaired  of  guidance  in  our  need  ? 

Who  has  not  cried  for  kindly  comprehension, 
Sending  from  out  his  loneliness  a  wail  ; 

Bracing  his  powers  for  their  intensest  tension, 
Fearing  his  soul  would  pass  beyond  the  pale  ? 

Who  has  not  known,  in  blackness  of  some  midnight, 
Strangely  awakened,  how  his  whole  soul  quailed, 

Seeing  there  lay  within  the  dark  some  hid  light, 
Feeling  the  blindness  of  his  eyes  had  failed? 

Have  we  not  all  in  times  of  wrung  emotion 
Known  that  One,  absent,  to  our  aid  has  come, 

Potent  through  supersensual  devotion, 

Bearing  a  message  tho'  his  love  were  dumb? 

He  who  has  felt  this  formless  fierce  desiring, 
He  who  is  eager,  urgent  for  the  goal, 

Whose  one  request  is  Answer  to  inquiring, 
Knows  that  the  veil  is  thin  before  his  soul. 


DAWN 

From  the  west  the  night  winds  blow, 

And  the  clouds  are  driven  far, 
In  the  sky  the  moon  is  low, 
Very  pale  is  every  star : 

While  the  zephyrs  sigh, 
And  the  morn  is  nigh 
When  the  golden  sun  will  rise  on  high. 

O'er  the  world  the  air  is  still, 
All  the  life  is  in  the  sky. 
Slowly   dawning  colors   thrill 

And  the  pulse  of  light  beats  high: 
Waking  birds  do  cheep, 
Downy  nestlings  peep, 
Forest  folk  are  waking  from  their  sleep. 

In  the  vale  the  wood  lies  dim, 
Early  dawn  is  on  the  hill; 
Now  the  sun  bursts  o'er  its  rim, 
Rising  ever  higher  still, 

Till  the  day  is  bright, 
Floating  clouds  are  white, 
And  the  heaven  is  full  of  glorious  light. 


THE  NEW  HOPE. 

That  fragile  ship,  my  Joy,  has  come  to  grief, 
Wrecked  when  her  voyage  promised  very  fair. 

Yes,  rent  and  shattered  past  my  first  belief, 
Oh !  split  and  splintered  far  beyond  repair. 

Come!  let  me  build  and  launch  another  boat, 
To  send  her  where  my  first  adventure  failed, 

Yes,  thrust  her  in  the  very  tempest's  throat, 
The  bravest  vessel  that  has  ever  sailed. 


THE  COMING  LETTER 

Somewhere  a  letter  waits  for  me  tonight, 

Where  alien  hands  have  laid  it  idly  by; 
Somewhere  those  few  dear  pages  of  delight, 

Unheeded,  lone,  and  all  uncared  for  lie. 
I  scarce  can  think  they  would  not  know  its  mark, 

E'en  strangers,  surely,  must  its  worth  espy: 
From  all  that  glowing  love  one  upward  spark 

Must  reach  and  teach  the  cold  official  eye: 
Can  what  he  says,  and  what  I  parch  to  hear, 

Can  such  a  joy  concealed,  unknown  remain? 
I  think  that  with  his  letter  lying  near, 

Ascetic  hearts  some  warmth  of  love  must  gain: 
Therefore  at  this  delay  I  may  not  sorrow, 

But,  smiling  think,  "  his  letter  comes  tomorrow!  " 


10 


LOVE  THE  GOLDSMITH 

Out  of  his  treasure  of  unending  days 

Time  offered  us  a  precious  golden  few; 
But  these  we  wasted  soon  in  pretty  plays, 

Then  begged  that  Time  his  largess  would  renew, 
Rich  Time,  the  niggard,  spared  for  us  but  two, 

Nor  bid  the  sun  rise  swift,  nor  slowly  set ; 
While  we  would  fain  have  stayed  the  drying  dew, 

Or  begged  the  Night  to  "  bide  a  moment  yet " — 
Thus  as  we  passed  reluctant,  I,  and  he, 

(Each  dreading  that  first  farewell  we  must  take), 
Saw  Love,  the  goldsmith,  sit  beneath  a  tree, 

And  begged  of  him  to  make  us  some  keepsake, 
So  these  two  days  of  molten  glowing  hours 

Were  deftly  worked  to  golden  passion  flowers. 


"LOVE'S  PURVEYORS" 

My  Eyes  and  Ears  have  leagued  them  with  young 
Love, 

And  promised  him  his  purveyors  to  be, 
So  they  around,  about,  beneath,  above 

Are  seeking  somewhat  sweet  to  hear  or  see, 
When  found  it  is  Love's  weapon  against  me! 

Love  has  besieged  my  soul  with  that  and  this; 
And  Love  has  scaled  my  heart  with  thine  and  thee ; 

For  watchwords  Love  has  chosen  "  clasp  "  and 
"kiss"; 

To    sentries    softly    whispered    "  Loving    is    all 

bliss  "  ; 
Has  tempted  me  with  wily-winsome  ways; 

Proclaimed  by  herald  "  Love  you  must  not  miss  "; 
Offered  a  kingly  bribe  of  golden  days; 

And  all  the  time  those  traitor  Ears  and  Eyes 

Have  furnished  him  munitions  and  supplies! 


YOU  AND  I 

To  an  Hawaiian  Air 

Listen,  dear  one,  listen  while  the  night  breeze, 
Blows  thro'  the  swaying  palm  trees 
Singing,  clear  and  clearer, 
His,  who,  drawing  nearer, 
Throws  around  your  sweet  knees, 
Loving  arms  that  only  you  appease! 

Linger,  dear  one,  tho'  the  surf  be  roaring, 

Hear  but  my  love  imploring: 

Love  that  ne'er  abated 

While  too  long  it  waited. 

Now,  my  hope  restoring, 

Yield  me,  Sweet,  yourself  to  my  adoring! 

A  LOVER'S  RONDEAU 

A  clouded  moon  in  summer  skies 
That  arch  a  lover's  paradise, 
A  moon,  half-hid,  that  shimmers  through 
White  clouds  across  the  midnight  blue; 
Soft,  blurring  mist,  that,  trailing,  flies, 
To  lodge  where  cloud-drift  massing  lies, 
Where  vapor  mountains  dimly  rise, 
Each  snowy  ridge  line  pointing  to 

A  clouded  moon ;  — 
Here  eyes  gaze  deep  in  thrilling  eyes, 
And  arms  reach  out  on  love's  emprise 
While  lips  say  only  "  you  "  and  "  you  " — 
On  such  a  night  men  wed  or  woo, 
While  slowly  down  the  heaven  dies, 

A  clouded  moon. 


12 


THE  DREAM  OF  A  KISS 

I  dreamed  I  lay  within  his  master  arm, 

And  that  his  eyes,  adventured  into  mine, 
Had  roused  my  pulses  to  a  glad  alarm 

Of  love,  obeying  his  imperious  sign; 
His  urgent  will  supreme,  my  will  supine, 

His  mouth  most  eloquent  in  mute  address, 
Demanding  that  which  I  could  not  decline, 

Because  my  heart  said  only  "  yes  "  and  "  yes  " :  — 
Oh!   we  forgot  the  world,  and  life,  and  death, 

Because  his  heart  was  knocking  on  my  breast, 
When  I,  with  faltering  lips  and  flutt'ring  breath, 

Yielding,  acceded  to  his  keen  request,  — 
At  last,  transcending  words  that  speak  of  bliss, 
Our  two  mouths  moulded  in  one  God-like  Kiss! 


KEALAKEKUA  BAY 

A  cliff  uptowering,  black  as  night, 

A  bay  that  lies  in  mystery  — 
O'ershadowed  in  the  moon's  full  light  — 

Lo!   such  a  "  pali  "  well  might  be 

The  path  of  gods  who  sought  the  sea, 
Arriving,  flower-crowned,  drenched  with  dew, 

Where  godlike  music  endlessly 
The  breakers  boom,  and  boom  anew. 

And  such  brown  gods,  so  flower  bedight, 

So  mountain-footed,  happily 
Might  wander,  using  touch  for  sight, 

'Mid  rocks  and  sea  spray,  fearlessly 

In  any  midnight  wander,  free 
To  hear,  in  this  seagirt  purlieu, 

Their  paean,  mortal  threnody 
The  breakers  boom,  and  boom  anew. 

Who  thinks  the  gods  have  vanished  quite, 
While  sweet-breathed  lilies  brush  the  knee, 

Beside  the  cascade  foaming  white, 

While  blows  the  trade  wind  tirelessly 
Through  groves  of  curly-coa  tree, 

Or  where,  beneath  the  midnight  blue, 
With  mighty,  reckless,  crashing  glee 

The  breakers  boom,  and  boom  anew? 

ENVOY 

Princess!    the  answer  lies  with  thee, 
Say  thou  if  the  old  gods  be  true; 

Hark  first  the  ocean's  endless  plea, 
The  breakers  boom,  and  boom  anew. 


ILLICILLAWAET  GLACIER 

Here  in  the  early  days  of  this  old  world 

This  ice  lay  gleaming  in  the  new  born  sun; 

Whence,  now,  the  grey-green  glacier  waters  run 
Long   since   by  youthful   wind   the  snows  were 

swirled ; 
In  curve  and  cave,  by  primal  eddies  whirled, 

Drift  upon  drift,  and  fleecy  ton  on  ton 

Lay,  ere  our  oldest  cities  were  begun, 
Lie,  yet,  where  they  in  aeons  past  were  hurled ; 
Here  in  his  frozen  bed  the  frozen  river  lies, 

Close  in  his  icy  heart  his  ancient  secret  sleeps,  — 
Around,   the  world  breathes  warm  beneath  spring 
skies, 

And  oft  a  transitory  blossom  peeps 
From  leafy  shade  that  yearly  buds  and  dies,  — 

Still  slothful-paced,  his  age-old  course  he  keeps. 


LAZARUS 

He  did  not  tell,  because  there  were  no  words 
Meaning  the  things  which  he  did  see  and  hear; 

Only  his  eyes,  unto  those  women  twain 

Spake  a  great  love,  which  cast  out  every  fear. 

THE  FLET-WITE 

Freed  from  the  cell  wherein  I  hid  my  shame! 

"Respite,"    "Reprieve,"    "Release,"    kindness 

unkind ; 
How  can  I  live  with  my  dismantled  name? 

Dishonor  honor  win  among  mankind? 


BETWEEN  HERE  AND  THERE 

Oh !  Here  the  world  is  lonely, 

And  sad,  and  full  of  care, 
But  surely  joy  and  happiness 

And  merry  life  are  There! 

Oh !  Here  the  world  is  bitter  cold, 
Frost  bound,  and  bleak  with  snow, 

But  There  throughout  the  brilliant  days 
The  balmy  south  winds  blow. 

I'd  venture  forth  for  happiness 

All  dangers  would  I  dare, 
If  I  might  find  the  hidden  road 

That  leads  from  Here  to  There. 


EXQUISITE   HANDS 

Exquisite  hands,  how  can  I  sing  your  grace? 
The  swift,  sweet  touch  upon  my  waiting  face 
Of  finger  tips  that  thrilled  me  through  and  through, 
And  then  as  swift,  but  bitterly,  withdrew, 
While  I  sat,  still  within  the  self-same  place, 
Bewildered  at  my  sorry-joyful  case; 
Oh!  once  again  that  fleeting  blessing  trace 
Across  my  cheek,  grant  Heaven  to  me  anew, 

Exquisite  hands! 

My  desperate,  icy  fingers  interlace, 
As  though  my  prayer  could  dissipate  this  space, 
Or  urge  your  distant,  yearning  hands  to  woo 
Mine  from  their  exile;  hear  me  cry  to  you, 
"  Oh !    come  again  in  loving,  long  embrace, 

Exquisite  hands!  " 


16 


WAIKIKI   BEACH 
(HONOLULU) 

This  -is  the  Beach  whereon  the  white  foam  flies 

Beneath  the  mounting  skies; 

Where  the  strong  ocean  currents  pour 

From  a  far  northern  shore; 

Where  coral  waters,  purple,  green,  and  blue, 

And  every  peacock  hue, 

Glimmer,  and  gleam,  and  glint, 

A  fierier  opal  tint. 

The  long  seas  roll  from  rocky,  ice-girt  lands 

To  these  palm-shaded  sands. 

The  little  wave  that  laps  about  your  feet 

Has  fled  from  snow  and  sleet, 

Where  unbound  waters  rage,  and  rave,  and  roar, 

Tossing  forevermore, 

And  now  lies  on  this  sun-warmed,  southern  isle, 

Where  rich  brown  faces  smile. 

Lo!    each  great  roller  breaks  upon  the  bar, 

Where  the  slim  surf  boats  are, 

Upon  this  "  horse,"  this  wave,  this  rushing  tide, 

See  the  Hawaiians  ride, 

A  laughing,  shouting,  singing,  merry  crew, 

In  their  fleet  black  canoe, 

And  all  are  forward-leaning,  straining  in  the  wind, 

While  the  curled  wave  pursues  behind  — 

High  overhead  beneath  the  brilliant  heaven 

Fly  clouds  forever  by  a  great  wind  driven. 


AN  UPRIGHT  JUDGE 

An  upright  judge  I  ever  sought  to  be 
Because  the  fate  of  many  lay  with  me; 
I  was  not  one  who  sought  a  life  of  ease, 
Whose  cravings  luxury  alone  could  please, 
Who  worked  for  wealth  and  winnings  eagerly, 
Stretched  beggar-hands  with  hard  effrontery, 
Unlocked  my  justice  with  a  golden  key, 
No!  Heaven  made  me,  answering  my  pleas, 

An  upright  judge. 

When  the  Great  Judge  His  world  shall  publicly 
Arraign  in  Court  of  Last  Appeal,  will  He 
Pronounce  me  guilty,  if,  from  bended  knees, 
I  answer  queries  with  plain  words  like  these, 
"  In  my  heart's  core  I  am,  as  outwardly, 

An  upright  judge." 


A  MOONLIT  GARDEN 

A  murmurous  moonlit  garden, 
A  murmuring  summer  sea, 

Not  Arcady  nor  Arden 
Is  fairer  unto  me. 

A  path  of  silver  shimmer, 

Beset  on  either  hand 
By  wooded  spaces  dimmer 

By  wavering  shadow-land. 

A  silence  filled  with  stirring 

Of  many  leaves  asleep, 
With  faint  detected  whirring 

Of  moths  that,  circling,  sweep. 

Main  of  all  charms  so  binding, 
The  sound,  the  shade,  the  light, 

I  feel  around  me  winding 
The  unnamed  scent  of  night. 


DESERTED   PLACES 

Old  temples  standing  high  on  bare  lone  hills; 

Gaunt  castles  rooted  in  the  living  rock; 
Prone  cities,  gateway,  rampart,  statue,  tower 

Laid  level  by  some  ancient  earthquake  shock; 

Tall  columns  raised  to  heroes  long  forgot; 

Queens'  chambers  left  to  silence  and  neglect; 
Cold  altars  where  priest-litten  sacred  fires 

Burned  once  to  gods  whom  all  men  now  reject; 

Huge  columned  fore-court;  record  monolith; 

Vast  pylon,  buried  in  oblivious  sand; 
Great  archways  that  some  Monarch  rode  beneath 

Returning  from  an  abject,  conquered  land; 

All  these  I  saw  and  felt  their  eerie  charm, 
And,  fleeing,  left,  to  wander  far  and  wide 

Among  thronged  cities  —  but  'returned  unto 
Deserted  places  and  the  ebbing  tide. 


RONDEL  OF  HOPE 

Spring  comes  back  to  our  snow-bound  dwelling, 

The  sweet-breathed  Spring  that  we  loved  of  yore ; 

We  note,  while  we  bide  in  the  open  door, 
The  vital  twig,  and  the  buds'  new  swelling, 
We  hear  the  ripple  of  free  stream  telling 

That  yet  again,  as  so  oft  before, 
Spring  comes  back  to  our  snow-bound  dwelling, 

The  sweet-breathed  Spring  that  we  loved  of  yore. 

We  see  great  Nature's  force  impelling 

All  to  draw  from  her  living  store; 

And  we,  who  doubted,  we  hope  once  more, 
And  say,  as  we  feel  love  upward  welling, 
"  Spring  comes  back  to  our  snow-bound  dwelling." 


20 


SEA  FOAM 

Airy  foam  and  fairy  form 

With  white  moonlight  on  her  breast, 
Fairy  form  and  airy  foam 

Blowing  from  the  topmost  crest. 

Weaving  waves  and  writhing  wraithes 
Sliding  drop  on  silver  limb, 

Writhing  wraithes  and  weaving  waves 
Scarcely  seen  by  moonlight  dim. 

Cloudy  moon  and  moonlit  cloud 
Sailing  o'er  the  fairy  forms; 

Moonlit  cloud  and  clooded  moon 
Driven  by  advancing  storms. 


FAILURE 

Before  us  spread  unhampered  easy  ways, 

And  wealth  and  all  men's  praise; 

Behind  us  lay  the  purse-pinched,  lonely  past, 

Unsmirched  from  first  to  last,  — 

Then  there  befell  that  fatal  one  "  mistake," 

Which  Honor  bade  us  make. 

Some  men  cried  out  that  we  had  lost  our  chance; 

Some  passed  without  a  glance; 

Some  pitied  us  for  missing  fame  and  ease, 

And  all  that  follow  these,  — 

We  stood  unmoved,  set  hearts  that  never  quailed, 

Glad  to  have  nobly  failed. 


21 


THE  OTHER  SHORE 

Is  there  no  boat  to  take  our  message  o'er 

Unto  the  other  shore? 

To  those  who  wait  upon  the  further  sands 

We  stretch  beseeching  hands; 

In  vain  our  voices  call,  cry,  beg,  implore, 

Drowned  in  the  Ocean's  roar. 

Yet  what  is  this,  within,  that  seems  to  wake? 

What  effort  did  we  make? 

What  sense  is  this,  that  mercifully  expands 

To  compass  our  demands? 

Can  voices  speak  again  that  erstwhile  spake, 

And  the  long  silence  break? 


DEEP  IN  THE  WOODS 

Deep  in  the  woods  and  deeper  you  may  stray, 

And  listen  to  the  wood-doves  cooing  low, 
And  half  forget  the  sultry  summer  day, 

The  cornfields  shining-bladed  row  on  row, 

The  road  where  creaking,  creeping  ox-carts  go; — 
The  while  your  willing  feet  will  press  a  shaded  way 
Deep  in  the  woods  and  deeper  you  may  stray, 

And  listen  to  the  wood-doves  cooing  low, 
Or  watch  the  strong,  wild  grape  vine  slowly  sway 

While  little  fitful  breezes  die,  or  blow,  — 
Where  some  old  log  lies,  fallen,  hollow,  gray, 

Soft  moss  will  creep,  and  graven-lichen  grow, 
Deep  in  the  woods  and  deeper  you  may  stray 

And  listen  to  the  wood-doves  cooing  low. 


22 


QUAKER  MEETING 

With  folded  hands  laid  down  upon  my  knee, 

I  bide,  nor  heed  the  moment's  rushing  flight, 
Nor  hear  the  city's  loud  garrulity. 

The  charge  and  countercharge  of  wordy  fight; 
From  these  strong  walls  of  silence  fend  me  quite, 

And  I  am  left,  in  peace,  to  contemplate, 
Alone  and  open  to  the  nameless  Light, 

With  all  my  depths  of  soul  irradiate, 
While  speech  must  fail,  and  even  formless  thought, 

And  blind-eyed  instinct  (stirring  in  the  clay), 
And  sturdy  reason,  all  be  counted  naught, 

All  cast  aside  for  this  diviner  way  — 
The  hidden,  psychic  power  awaken,  thrill, 

Vibrate,  responsive  to  the  Outer  Will. 

CONQUERING  KINGS 

Like  Conquering  Kings  we  face  our  fate, 

Who  hurtle  forth  to  meet  it; 
Our  hopes  are  high,  our  hearts  are  great, 

Panoplied,  strong,  we  greet  it. 

But  Conquering  Kings  lament  their  loss 
When  the  great  fight  is  foughten, 

For  bear  they  crescent,  or  bear  they  cross, 
Each  day  is  dearly  boughten. 

So  Conquering  Kings,  with  hardened  hearts, 
Must  write  in  blood  their  story, 

And,  passing  on  in  purple  pomp, 
Erect  on  graves  their  glory. 


ARIZONA 

Stretched  out  from  both  my  hands 
Lie  the  parched,  arid  lands, 
Thirsty  and  dry  and  bare, 
Fanned  by  a  furnace  air; 
Serrate  against  hard  skies 
Their  mistless  mountains  rise, 
Or,  in  the  distance  seen, 
Glow  with  an  opal  sheen, 
Violet,  and  blue,  and  rose, 
Their  gorgeous  color  flows, 
Or  ochre,  orange,  chrome, 
Against  a  turquoise  dome; 
While  the  heat  haze  between 
Vibrates,  a  hueless  screen; 
The  sand  around  my  feet 
Glares  in  the  sun's  fierce  heat. 
Drifted  and  driven   apace 
It  knows  no  resting  place; 
Despite  the  awful  drought 
Weird  cacti  writhe  about, 
And  Spanish  dagger  sheaves 
Spread  out  their  fleshy  leaves  — 
But  here  the  faint  heart  clings 
To  any  hope  of  springs  — 
Ah!    here  may  vain  ears  strain 
For  blessed,  dripping  rain  — 
And  here  may  burned  eyes  glare 
On  many  a  mirage  fair :  — 
Far  from  all  human  reach 
Lost  bones  may  bare  and  bleach  — 
Stretched  out  from  both  my  hands 
Lie  the  parched,  arid  lands. 


A  FOREST  FIRE 

Aloft  against  the  sky 

Expectant  tongues  of  flame,  — 
The  pointed  pines  stand  high 
Aloft  against  the  sky, 
Where  men  and  women  die 

With  cries  on  God's  Great  Name  — 
Aloft  against  the  sky 

Expectant  tongues  of  flame. 


LOST  ATLANTIS 

The  blind  snake  crawls  along  the  walls 
Of  tower  and  turret  ages  buried ; 

The  ground  swell  laps  within  the  gaps 
Of  the  long  rampart  rough  and  serried. 

There  clings  white  brine  upon  the  shrine 
Within  the  temple's  wave-worn  glory, 

And  white  things  creep  in  slime,  and  sleep 
Upon  the  tablet's  graven  story. 

Soft  silence  reigns  in  those  domains 

Where  once  the  trumpet  rang  so  loudly; 

And  pallid  gleams  of  phosphor  beams 

Glow  where  the  sun  once  glittered  proudly. 

Oh!    love,  they  lie  beneath  no  sky, 

Who  fell  by  field  and  hill  and  river  — 

The  wild  seas  roll  from  pole  to  pole, 
And  surfs  above  them  boom  forever. 


A  BALLADE  OF  DEAD  FASHIONS 

Where  are  the  gowns  we  used  to  wear, 

The  Watteau  gowns  that  once  were  grace? 
Where  the  tortured  and  heaped  up  hair, 

Where  our  Grandmothers'  iron  stays? 
Where  is  the  drooping  Spanish  lace, 

The  paletot  we  held  so  dear? 
Where  the  wimple  that  hid  the  face.? 

Where  are  the  fashions  of  Yester  Year? 

Where  is  the  collar's  Medici  flare, 

Sandals  that  once  held  honored  place? 
That  tiny  cheek  patch   (fetching  snare!), 

The  velvet  habit  that  led  the  chase? 
Where  is  the  dangling  mirror  case, 

And  where  the  scanty  gown  "  Empire," 
The  jewelled  slipper,  for  courtly  pace, 

Where  are  the  fashions  of  Yester  Year? 

Where  is  the  powder  we  could  not  spare, 

The  classic  dress  of  the  Grecian  race? 
The  beauty  masked  from  vulgar  stare, 

The  vine-clad  nymph  upon  that  vase? 
The  full-blown  hoops  for  Regal  space, 

The  fads  and  fancies,  now  so  queer, 
The  bygone  beauty,  the  cherished  craze, 

Where  are  the  fashions  of  Yester  Year? 

ENVOY 

Sweetheart!    This  Ballade  in  your  praise! 

Why  should  you  ask,  why  should  I  hear, 
When  you  are  lovely  all  your  days, 

Where  are  the  fashions  of  Yester  Year? 


26 


A  LITTLE  LOVE  SONG 

The  breakers  on  the  beach 

Roll  in,  and  roll  anew, 
So  my  thoughts,  all  and  each, 

Set  constantly  to  you. 

Across  your  wind-swept  sky 
The  moon  rides  fair  and  calm; 

So  in  this  world  am  I 
Without  a  fear  or  qualm. 

The  ocean  and  the  moon 

Still  act  and  counteract; 
Thy  life  returneth  soon 

To  mine,  to  keep  our  pact. 

THE  PRAYING  PINES 

Rooted  they  stand,  but  yet  like  pilgrim  bands 
That  Heavenward  raise  their  hands, 

And,  praying,  climb  a  rocky  mountain  road, 
So  climb  the  pines  up  from  the  lower  lands. 

Tongueless?   for  those  who  hear  upon  the  way, 
Oh!   with  what  zeal  they  pray! 

Their  voice  a  sweet,  insistent,  suppliant  sigh, 
As  soft  as  zephyr's  sound  on  summer's  day. 


27 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD 

There  is  a  world,  reserved  beyond  our  keenest  gaze, 
Ringed  by  a  barking  surf,  and  hid  by  dashing  sprays, 
Cut  off  from  us  by  many  wandering  ocean  ways; 

And  some  return,  saying  they  surely  find  it  not, 
And  some  dare  not  go  forth  from  home  and  garden 

plot, 
And  some  come  not  again,  and  swiftly  are  forgot; 

But  some  have  gone,  and  come  again,  by  God's  good 

grace, 

Standing  to  cry  their  news  in  the  full  market  place, 
Urging  their  fellow-men,  with  joyous  tongue  and 

face  ; 

Yea!    these  have  pleaded  long  and  bravely,  eager 

eyed, 
But   child,    and   wife,    and    friend    said    that   they 

wholly  lied,  — 
To  hide  their  broken  hearts  they  crept  away  and 

died ; 

Oh!    deep  and  deep  the  calm,  beyond  the  breakers' 

din,  — 
Yes,  fair  that  world  to  those  who  care,  and  dare, 

to  win, 
All  life  is  very  sweet  to  those  who  enter  in. 


28 


THE  SMALL  HOURS. 

The  wee  small  hours  of  blindfold  night, 
Before  the  darkness  gropes  to  light, 

Are  hours  most  ill  to  lie  awake. 

Then  will  remorseless  Conscience  slake 
His  wrath,  his  vengeance,  and  his  spite, 
Tormenting  every  sleepless  wight, 

And  into  endless  ages  make 
The  wee  small  hours; 

Then  Memories'  ghosts  arise  upright; 

Then  strong,  throat-gripping  fears  affright; 
Brave  hearts  long  broke  once  more  will  break, 
Old  sorrow  new  life-lease  will  take,  — 

And  these  condemn  us  to  this  plight, 
The  wee  small  hours. 


WE  DO  NOT  KNOW 

We  do  not  know,  we  may  not  guess 

What  we  shall  be 

When  we  have  doffed  this  human  dress: 
We  do  not  know,  we  may  not  guess: 
We  know  that  here  are  strain  and  stress. 

Time  past,  thro'  all  eternity 
We  do  not  know,  we  may  not  guess 

What  we  shall  be. 


MORNING,  NOON,  AND  NIGHT 

Arise,  my  soul,  and  praise  thy  Lord 

At  dawning  of  the  day; 
Before  thou  frame  a  paltry  word 

Arise  my  soul  and  praise  thy  Lord, 
Thy  will  and  His  in  sweet  accord, 

Prepare  thy  heart  to  pray; 
Arise  my  soul  and  praise  thy  Lord 

At  dawning  of  the  day. 

Approach,  my  soul,  and  praise  thy  Lord; 

Tho'  babel  ring  thee  'round, 
Seek  thou  the  aid  thou  hast  implored, 

Approach,  my  soul,  and  praise  thy  Lord; 
Assailed  by  roar  and  huge  discord, 

The  city's  noonday  sound, 
Approach,  my  soul,  and  praise  thy  Lord, 

Though  babel  ring  thee  'round. 

Awake,  my  soul,  and  praise  thy  Lord, 

Though  night  blindfold  thine  eyes; 
To  worship  Whom  the  Saints  adored, 

Awake,  my  soul,  and  praise  thy  Lord, 
Delay  thou  not  for  deeds  deplored, 

Advance  thy  great  emprise: 
Awake,  my  soul,  and  praise  thy  Lord, 

Though  night  blindfold  thine  eyes. 


THE  WORLD  FORGETTING 

Oh,   Dearest,  let  us  laugh,  and  set  the  world  at 

naught  — 

Its  hopes,  its  fears,  its  very  triumphs  all  forgot  — 
The  while  we   sip   this   bowl   of  nectar  we  have 

caught. 

What  is  this  world,  that  bids  us  each  to  sacrifice, 
At  its  command,  our  new  and  perfect  Love  emprise? 
I  think  that  you  and  I  this  sham  world  may  despise ! 

Oh,  Dearest,  let  us  sit,  with  hand  in  hand,  and  bide 
That  hour  the  sea  of  Fate  will  send  its  mounting 

tide, 
To  bear  our  boat  of  Love  to  the  new  World  untried. 


THE  WYVVERN  ON  THE  GATE  POST 

Long,  lank,  and  lean,  upon  the  post  upreared, 
His  neck  a  scrawn,  his  eagle  head  spike-eared, 
His  iron  beak  a  thing  to  be  most  feared. 

His  scaly  tail,  in  wrath  around  him  coiled, 
And  angry  eye  betrayed  him  late  embroiled. 
Beneath  his  claw  a  serpent  lay  despoiled. 


So  for  a  thousand  years  he  sate  erected  ; 

So  held,  a  thousand  years,  his  foe  subjected, 

And  kept,  a  thousand  years,  his  honor  unsuspected. 


AN   HAWAIIAN  AFTERNOON 

The  sun  upon  the  rocks, 

And  the  breakers  on  the  bar; 

And  a  line  of  tossing  shadows 
Where  the  royal  palm  trees  are; 

The  brilliant,  cloud-filled  heav'n, 
The  strong  voiced  wind  roaring  by, 

And  the  blazing  red  hibiscus, 
And  a  lazy,  deep  "  lanai  " ; 

A  soft,  liquid  sound  of  singing, 
As  the  day  draws  nigh  to  night, 

While  the  purple  darkness  deepens  — 
All  these  things  are  my  delight. 


THE  SQUINT 

Peephole  to  Heaven!    whereby  those  lepers  gained 
Sight  of  the  Host,  sound  of  the  tinkling  bell, 
Waft  of  the  incense  rising  to  the  Lord  — 
Those,  grievous  smitten  of  the  Lord,  gained  these! 
Those  lepers,  whiter  than  the  driven  snow, 
Men  lonelier  than  the  blind,  or  mowing  mute, 
Crouching  without  the  Church's  walls,  might  peer 
In  through  this  narrow  slot,  and  hear  the  Mass 
Said  for  their  sin-scarr'd  souls,  and  so  might  have 
Souls,  like  their  leprous  bodies,  white  as  snow. 
They  might  hope  nothing  for  this  world,  who  cried 
"  Unclean !  Unclean !  "  and  dwelt  among  the  rocks ; 
But  for  the  world  to  come  their  hope  was  high; 
Christ  had  himself  healed  lepers  in  His  life: 
Perchance,  in  this  life  Purgatory  passed, 
They   would,    on   death,   win    straight   to    Heav'n 

above. 

But  oh!    to  be  a  morbid,  morbose  thing; 
To  be,  each  man,  his  own  live,  loathsome  tomb; 
To  walk  this  earth  and   think  what  might  have 

been  ; 

To  see  a  wife,  held  by  another  man, 
Dear  babes  run,  shrieking,  from  all  near  approach. 
An  outcast,  outlaw  —  outrage  to  the  eyes! 
This  wedge-shaped  cleft  their  only  joy  in  life, 
Or  means  whereby  they  gained  a  hope  of  Heav'n  — 
Lo!   here  they  stood,  here,  on  this  hallowed  ground 
And  laid  their  heads  against  these  sacred  stones 
To  weep,  and  curse  the  day  that  they  were  born. 

We  now  stand  here,  clean,  in  the  light  of  day, 
With  smooth,  whole  skins,  and  pity  their  past  woe; 
Who,  in  the  years  they  writhed  beneath  the  curse, 
Who  pitied,  succored,  shielded  them?    Alas! 
The  Church's  walls  were  hard  beneath  their  touch, 
Harder  the  hearts  they  cried  to,  long  ago. 


33 


Lo!    here  they  looked  in  through  the  Squint  and 

saw 

The  Priest,  before  the  altar  of  the  Lord, 
Raising,  in  spotless  hands,  the  Host  on  high, 
And  seeing,  crossed  themselves,  and  bowed,  and  so 
They  blessed  the  Lord,  and  prayed  that  they  might 

die. 

And  now  the  sod  lies  smooth  above  the  graves 
Of  piteous  bodies,  crumbled  into  dust. 
And  soft  spring  sounds,  once  dulled  to  Leper  ears, 
Melt  into  music  with  the  Vesper  bells. 
Perhaps  —  my  hope  runs  so,  is  all  I  say  — 
Perhaps  come  through  this  heaven-like  evening  air, 
Some  Souls  of  Lepers,  tongueless  in  their  life, 
May  chime,  and  ring,  and  sing  from  out  the  bells, 
May  choose  those  bronzed,  shining  throats  to  call 
Men  of  a  different  faith  to  worship  God 
There,  where  they  worshiped  through  the  Squint- 
slit,  long  ago! 


SINGING 

When  the  waves  wash  low, 
And  the  great  stars  go 

Over  the  heaven  glistening; 
A  voice  I  know 
Is  singing  low, 
And  I  alone  am  listening. 

When  the  waves  dash  high 
And  the  foam  blows  by, 

Sweetest  of  memories  bringing, 
A  presence  dear 
Is  very  near, 
A  voice  of  love  is  singing. 


34 


THE  SATYRS 

Hear  the  satyrs  calling,  crying, 
As  the  windy  day  is  dying 

O'er  the  rocks; 
And  the  shepherd  speeds  the  flocks 

They're  eyeing! 

See  the  satyrs  leap  and  scramble 
Thro'  the  briar  and  brake  and  bramble; 

In  the  glow 
Of  the  red  sun  sunken  low 

They  gambol, 

Never  thinking  of  the  morrow, 
Without  head  or  heart  to  borrow 

Any  care. 
Of  all  sadness,  of  all  sorrow 

Unaware. 


35 


MELANCHOLIA 

To  Albrecht  Diirer,  who  could  paint  a  soul 
On  one  small  page  in  staring  black  and  white, 

This  Chant  Royal  so  full  of  dree  and  dole, 
The  study  of  a  Soul,  I  do  indite. 

A  world  of  willful  woe  lay  in  his  gloomy  glance, 

The  lowering  look  of  one  who  longed  and  sought 

to  brood, 
To  daze  himself  into  a  miserable  trance, 

Each  stalwart  limb  relaxed  in  lassitude, 
Volition  clean  destroyed,  he  sat  all  motionless ; 

He  nothing  would  deny,  in  nothing  acquiesce; 
It  seemed  his  soul  had  left  an  empty  tenement, 

So  still  he  sat  him  there,  wholly  improvident, 
With  all  the  heart-stirred  world   an   equal-born 
coheir  ; 

From  peace  and  strife  alike  he  was  too  abstinent, 
He  never  girt  himself  to  wrestle  with  Despair. 

Filled  with  a  self-distrust,  too  dire  for  utterance, 

He  idly  held  this  life  a  jarring  interlude, 
The  Universe  a  symphony  of  dissonance 

Performed  unto  a  reckless,  wretched,  worthless 

multitude 

Of  those  who  filled  their  ears  with  voice  of  drunk 
enness, 

With  foolish  clatter  or  with  more  insane  excess; 
And  for  himself  he  ever  paid  but  scant  attent, 
Doubting  the  least  of  thought  he  gave  this  theme 

misspent, 

So  bode  he  dumbly  deaf,  and  with  unheeding  stare, 
No  strain  might  rouse  him  to  be  bold  and  con 
fident, 
He  never  girt  himself  to  wrestle  with  Despair. 

He  wot  of  neither  fact  nor  yet  of  sweet  romance; 
In  many  peopled  towns  he  dwelled  in  solitude; 


Bedazed  himself  with  strange,  intemperate  temper 
ance, 

Would  every  form  of  human  joy  exclude. 
The  most  he  ever  craved  was  blank  forgetfulness, 

The  power  to  nullify  his  soul's  sentient  duress, 
To  plunge  in  nothingness  this  vital  incident; 

The  Cup  of  Death  he  owned  his  only  Sacrament, 
He  loathed  to  linger  here,  believed  in  no  elsewhere; 

With  all  his  mighty  strength  was  not  bellipotent, 
He  never  girt  himself  to  wrestle  with  Despair. 

The  struggle  for  this  life,  man's  fierce  inheritance, 

He  only  recognized  the  better  to  elude; 
Of  hope  and  fear  alike  he  dwelled  in  ignorance, 

Of  keen  ambition  and  of  dullard  servitude, 
Of  loss,  of  sorrow,  parting,  and  rare  happiness, 

The  profit  of  the  right,  the  pains  of  who  trans 
gress, 

The  joy  of  joys,  great  love   (of  bliss  and  torture 
blent), 

Untouched  he  bode,  and  equally  incompetent, 
As  one  who  cared  to  win  in  human  life  no  share, 

He  dallied  with  weird  woes;  to  his  vast  detriment 
He  never  girt  himself  to  wrestle  with  Despair. 

So  sank  he  low  in  depths  of  bitter  arrogance, 

A  giant  shirking  fight,  in  hard  similitude, 
A  cowering  soul  that  shrank  from  using  vigilance, 

That  every  duty,  right,  and  privilege  eschewed, 
While  boasting,  blatant,  of  its  languid  helplessness, 

Betrayed,  alas!    long  years  of  living  spiritless, 
Each  word,  each  look,  each  cynic  silence  eloquent 

Of    unused    buckler,    rusting    sword,    and    bow 

unbent ; 
Proudly  ashamed  he  would  not  rise  and  dare, 

Content  with  discontent  he  lived  indifferent, 
He  never  girt  himself  to  wrestle  with  Despair. 


37 


ENVOY 

Throughout  his  life  a  melancholy  malcontent, 
Assailed  by  interned  foes  who  were  most  violent, 

Assaulted  by  those  foes  who  made  himself  their 

lair 
He  saw  his  life  destroyed  and  he  could  but  lament, 

He  never  girt  himself  to  wrestle  with  Despair. 


THE  REAR  GUARD 

Immortal  glories  met  the  martyr's  upturned  eye, 
Crowned  row  on  row  all  heaven  leaned  to  see  him 

die, 
And  courier  angels  led  the  victor  soul  on  high: 

But,  in  our  later  age,  we,  spent  and  well-nigh  blind, 
See  naught  above  and  the  fierce  foe  approach  behind, 
And  turn  to  the  defense  resolved  and  firm  of  mind. 


LONGING 

Oh!  also  I  in  Arcady 

Was  born  one  summer  day. 

Oh!  ever  I  to  Arcady 

Would  turn  each  budding  May. 

In  Arcady  the  woods  are  deep 

Wild  creatures  cry  or  call; 
While  wakened  from  their  winter  sleep 

The  waters  flow  and  fall. 

All  brakes  are  rising  'round  the  ponds, 
The  violets  bloom  and  blow; 

Brown  buds  unroll  to  ferny  fronds, 
To  freshly  green,  and  grow. 

Oh!    often  I  in  Arcady 

Have  seen  the  summer  wane; 

But  never  I  in  Arcady 

Will  watch  the  spring  again! 


THE  SPIRIT  MOVES 

Row  upon  row  of  faces  purged  from  thought, 

Eye  after  eye  glazed  in  a  sightless  stare; 
Man  after  man  to  highest  tension  wrought, 

Oblivious  of  all  worldly  coil  or  care; 
Not  knowing  "how,"  nor  recking  aught  of  "where," 

These  silent  sit,  and  patient,  side  by  side, 
These  waiting,  sit,  even  devoid  of  prayer, 

Volitionless,  with  every  floodgate  wide; 
As  lifeless  pools  for  stir  of  quickening  tide; 

As  desert  sands  waiting  some  mighty  blast; 
As  helpless  harps  that  for  their  master  bide; 

As  frozen  streams  which  feel  the  spring  at  last! 
Until   one   lifts  his  voice  and,   proudly   quaking, 
proves 

That  for  all  those  who  crave  the  potent  spirit 
moves. 

39 


THE  SOUL 

Sprung  from  a  past  as  black  as  any  night, 
And  all  obscurely  down  the  ages  come, 

A  shrouded  figure,  feeling  for  the  light, 
A  wordless  crying,  as  of  one  born  dumb. 

Live  in  the  flesh,  entombed  we  know  not  where, 
A  thing  without  a  shape  or  any  vital  part, 

A  spirit  formless  as  the  outer  air, 

More  near  than  each  man's  warmly  beating  heart. 

What  is  the  business  that  he  goes  about, 
Can  he  achieve  it  in  this  fleshly  tomb, 

Can  tidings  reach  him  from  the  world  without, 
This  prison'd  dewdrop  hear  the  great  Sea's  boom  ? 
*     *     #     * 

And  when  he  speaks,  as  sometimes  he  has  spoken, 
With  what  alarm  his  startled  listeners  hear! 

How  they  reject  the  sure,  veracious  token, 
How  they  refuse  him  a  believing  ear! 

And  when  each  shatter'd  prison  is  forsaken, 
Where  is  the  spirit?    Whither  doth  he  flee? 

With  what  appalling  terror  others,  shaken, 
Cry  "  He  is  gone,  and  sends  no  word  to  me !  " 

Out  of  the  darkness  who  is  seen  returning? 

Breaking  the  silence  who  hath  answer  made? 
Tho'  all  the  world  has  stretched  out  arms  of  yearn 
ing, 

Tho'  all  the  world  has  wept  and  been  afraid? 

What  is  the  spirit  dwelling  in  us  mortals? 

From  what  still  spaces  moves  he  to  each  man? 
Why  may  so  few  re-enter  earthly  portals? 

The  creature  ever  question  his  Creator's  plan? 


40 


A  SEA  SONG 

The  sun,  and  the  moon,  and  the  stars, 

And  the  tossing  waves  of  the  sea, 
And  the 'rolling  wrack  of  the  storm  clouds  black, 

They  each  have  a  joy  for  me! 

The  dark,  and  the  gray,  and  the  light, 

And  the  buffet  of  untamed  wind, 
And  the  breaking  gleam  of  the  waves  abeam, 

Are  sweet  to  the  girded  mind. 

The  hush,  and  the  calm,  and  the  gale, 

And  the  lightning's  vicious  dart, 
And  the  hissing  play  of  the  prow-cut  spray, 

Are  song  to  the  sea-bred  heart. 


FALLEN  IDOLS 

This  way  and  that  upon  the  great  High  Place, 

Where  once  they  stood  in  flower-wreathed  holi 
ness, 
The  gods  lie  fallen  on  their  flank  or  face; 

Unplagued  by  prayer  or  passionate  address 

Of  votary  or  any  votaress, 
No  longer  troubled  by  the  horrid  wail 

Of  priests  beseeching  them  to  bann  or  bless, 
With  night-long  service  till  the  stars  were  pale, 
Heart-shaking  drums  no  more  their  ears  assail. 

Fallen,  but  on  a  mountain  top,  they  seem 
To  turn  possessive  eyes  across  the  vale, 
Protecting  still,  where  once  they  reigned  supreme; 
And  here  through  coming,  sunlit  centuries 
Will  haunt  old   thoughts  of   these,  and  gods  like 
these. 


IN  THE  DUSK 

Hear  the  low,  slow  cooing 
Of  the  wood  dove  wooing 

To  his  nest! 

Hear  the  soft  sweet  cooing 
Of  the  little  bride  he's  wooing 

On  his  breast. 

Hear  the  fierce,  fast  pleading 

Of  the  wounded  heart  that's  bleeding 

At  your  feet; 

Hear  the  thick,  sick  bleeding 
Of  the  dying  heart  that's  pleading 

To  you,  sweet! 

Stretch  your  arms,  oh,  make  them  cover 
For  your  fainting,  fasting  lover 

Come  to  you. 

Raise  your  mouth  all  honey  dripping, 
Let  your  lover  lie  a-sipping 

Of  its  dew. 


IF 

If  these  long  hours  would  turn  again, 
And  I  might  be  beside  you, 

I  would  not  do  as  I  did  then, 

Reproach,  nor  check,  nor  chide  you! 

If  those  lost  days  might  dawn  again, 

For  sadly  do  I  miss  you, 
I  would  not  do  as  I  did  then, 

But  lift  my  mouth,  and  kiss  you. 


42 


Who  can  give  me  news  most  truly 

Of  that  dim  and  woodland  Thule? 

With  the  hillside  echoes  trilling 

The  sad  whippoorwill's  long  shrilling  — 

Paint  in  words  the  sunset's  paling, 

After-glowings  fading,  failing 

Who  shall  watch  the  darkness  coming, 

In  his  ears  the  silence  drumming, 

Vigilant,  see  shadows  creeping 

Round  the  outpost  he  is  keeping; 

Startled,  hear  the  treetops  stirring, 

Hear  the  night  hawk's  wide  wings  whirring? 

See  the  swift  stars  falling,  shooting, 

Shiver  at  the  owl's  long  hooting, 

Watch,  alone,  a  half  moon  drifting 

Through  the  cloud  reefs,  changing,  shifting, 

Who,  oh,  who  can  bring  me  newly 

Word  of  that  dusk,  dripping  Thule? 


43 


Was  ever  any  woman  more  than  I 

Brimmed  with  the  potent,  fiery  wine  of  Love, 

Bounden  to  raise  her  heart,  a  full-filled  cup, 

And  wish  and  crave  the  drinking  of  that  draught? 

Here,  where  the  night,  with  scented,  slow-drawn 

breath, 

Speaks  wordless  tales  of  love  in  ages  gone, 
Let  me  await  my  thirsty  parched  love, 
And  tell  myself  of  his  great  need  to  drink. 
What  should  I  do  but  slake  those  burning  lips? 
How  shield  myself  against  that  begging  mouth  ? 
And  yet  I  dread  the  velvet  sound  of  feet 
Coming  on  the  inexorable  road, 
Hasting,  in  triumph,  jubilant,  to  me; 
And  yet  I  tremble  bitterly  with  cold, 
And  quake  at  heart  with  an  in-striking  fear; 
Why  should  the  night  so  seem  to  pause  and  wait, 
Leaning  above  me,  vigilant  with  eyes? 
Are  not  his  eyes  enough  to  see  me  yield? 
The  dusk  seems  full  of  shadowy,  watching  gods, 
Whom  I  resent;  let  him  be  Zeus  to  me! 
I  have  no  wish  for  jealous  hierarchies 
Who  strive  to  rob  him  of  his  single  dues; 
In  all  the  man-filled,  teeming  land  of  Greece, 
And  all  the  heaven  crowded  with  fair  gods, 
There  is  none  other  godlier  than  he; 
How  have  I  been  heart-clean  and  free  from  all, 
How  walked  alone,  not  heeding  other  men! 
They  were  not  he,  they  could  not  ape  his  grace, 
Assume  that  princely,  self-contented  air 
Of  him  who  makes,  and  keeps,  alike  his  laws, 
Bidding  and  binding  his  obedient  soul, 
Prescribing  virtues  fittest  for  a  god ; 
He  is  the  man  to  whom  I  gave  my  life, 
His  the  sole  power  to  shatter  or  to  shield; 


44 


Therefore  I  tremble  greatly  for  myself, 
Acute  with  premonitions  of  that  hour, 
When  he  shall  come  with  forward  bending  head, 
His  mouth  a  claimant  undeniable. 


COWARDICE 

I  sit  beside  my  laughing  love 

And  tease  my  glances  with  her  hair; 
I'd  sever  one  small  treasure  trove  — 
If  I  but  dare! 

I  sit  beside  my  weeping  love 

And  view  her  sorrow  with  despair, 
The  best  consoler  I  could  prove  — 
If  I  but  dare! 

I  sit  beside  my  heedless  love 

And  pour  my  passion  on  the  air, 
I  would  her  lovelessness  reprove  — 
If  I  but  dare! 


45 


A  WHISPERED  LOVE  SONG 


"  Lay  both  thy  little,  trembling  hands  in  mine, 
"  While  I  lay  hungry,  thirsty  lips  to  thine;  — 
"Yea,  this  rare,  thrilling  thing  is  Love  Divine! 

"  Rest,  dear,  thy  pulsing,  quaking  breast  on  me ; 

"  Oh!    dare  look  up  into  my  eyes  and  see 

"  The  fierce,  sweet,  tender  love  I  feel  for  thee. 

"  Oh !   this  bright  trance,  this  dream,  this  heaven  of 

fire! 

"  This  brave  new  world  to  which  I  may  aspire! 
"  This  life  new  quickened  with  my  heart's  desire !  " 

SHE: 

"  This  is  the  haven  where  I  fain  would  be, 
"  Yea,  this  the  refuge  from  life's  angry  sea; 
"  My  safety,  solace,  hope,  all  lie  with  thee." 


46 


A  little  open  moonlit  glade, 
Girt  round  about  by  bosky  shade, 
The  arching  heaven  star-inlaid; 

The  night-wind,  breathing  of  perfume, 
Blew  softly  through  this  forest  room; 
A  firefly  glinted  in  the  gloom; 

The  soft,  insistent,  cooing  dove 
Had  lulled  to  sleep  his  mated  love, 
While  silence  brooded  far  above; 

A  ferny  scent,  a  rustling  sound, 
The  wild  faun  entered  at  a  bound, 
Paused,  cast  swift  glances  all  around; 

Here,  in  this  little,  lonely  glade 
His  wooden  pipe  he  nightly  played, 
Here  might  disport  him  undismayed  — 

With  lithesome  spring,  or  lissome  bend, 
He  danced  the  glade  from  end  to  end, 
His  shadow  dancing  like  a  friend; 

With  twirl  and  swirl  and  sweeping,  too, 
His  round  limbs  glistening  in  the  dew, 
His  circling  step  he  inward  drew, 

And  in  the  center  of  the  glade 
He  slowly  did  salute  his  shade, 
And  tossed  and  caught  the  pipe  he'd  played; 

Then  raised  his  voice  and  reveled  long 
In  husky,  throaty,  guttural  song, 
In  sounds  that  scarce  to  man  belong; 

And  at  the  end  a  loud  "  halloo!  " 
Out  from  his  trumpet  hands  he  threw, 
Then  vanished,  gamboling,  from  my  view. 


47 


LOVE-LIES-BLEEDING 

Unkissed,  unkind,  I  leave  you  in  the  fatal  room 

Where  once  I  hoped  a  brighter  day  should  glow; 
Unpitied,  wept,  or  loved  I  face  my  doom, 

Your  only  prayer  is  that  I  "  quickly  go  "  — 
Ah,  well!    one  dreamer  more  is  rudely  waked, 

His  pictured  future  blurred  by  a  soft  hand  ; 
One  more  poor  fool  his  trusting  heart  had  staked 

To  win  his  Eden  in  this  callous  land !  — 
One  more  poor  fool  his  trusting  heart  has  lost  — 

He  found  the  game  too  skilled  for  him  to  play, 
And  now  in  midnight  darkness  counts  the  cost 

With  bitter  tears,  and  dreads  the  coming  day  — 
And  you  will  never  think  upon  the  place 
Where  Love-lies-Bleeding  for  your  lovely  face. 


48 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  WASTE  LANDS 

"  Thus  of  Arthur  I  find  never  more  written  in 
!;<ir>ks  .  .  .  but  thus  was  he  led  away  in  a  ship 
•wherein  tvere  three  queens:  the  one  was  King  Ar 
thur's  sister,  queen  Morgan  le  Fay;  the  other  was 
the  queen  of  Northgalis;  the  third  was  the  queen  of 
the  Waste  Lands"  — Morte  D' Arthur. 

On  either  side  the  riven  rocks,  boulders  and  dor- 
nicks  lay, 

While  loos'ning  peak  and  leaning  pine  trembled 
across  the  way, 

And  every  little  rift  and  rent  gaped  in  the  scorching 
day. 

Bleed-red,  gold-yellow,  dazzling  white,  the  rocks 
before  mine  eyes, 

Blue  over  head,  and  deeper  blue,  the  caverns  of  the 
skies, 

And  steep  I  saw,  before  my  feet,  the  climbing  path 
way  rise. 

No  trace  nor  track  of  beast  or  man ;  an  eagle's  scream 

afar, 
I   heard    resound,    repeat,    rebound,   from   cleaving 

cliff  and  scaur  — 
Alone,  and  lonely  at  the  heart,  I  sought  my  one  Lode 

Star. 

A  sudden  wall  before  my  face  rose  glassy,  silvered, 

steep, 

A  fissure  opened  at  my  side  fell  many  fathoms  deep, 
Along  that  hideous  precipice  my  span-wide  path  did 

creep. 

Around  this  rock,  I  caught  my  breath,  and  fell  with 
folded  hands, 

Such  glare  of  glory  smiting  him  no  mortal  man  with 
stands, 

There  stood,  beside  a  turquoise  tarn,  the  queen  of 
the  Waste  Lands. 

4;  * 


THE  WINDOW 

Facing  the  sunset,  waiting  for  the  night, 
Filled  with  the  pity  of  the  dying  day; 

Tho'  fair  first  stars  are  strengthening  their  light 
The  shadows  deepen  to  an  amber  gray. 

Filled  with  the  pity  of  the  dying  day, 

Whose  crimson  passion  burns  the  western  sky, 

Yet  looking,  longing  for  the  silver  ray, 

Yet  longing  for  the  pure-faced  moon  on  high. 

Though  fair  first  stars  are  strengthening  their  light, 
The  day  dies  hard  upon  his  cloudy  bed. 

Tho'  silver  radiance  shimmer  thro'  the  night, 
The  west  is  pulsing  with  a  living  red. 

The  shadows  deepen  to  an  ember  gray, 
The  chill  wind  rises  with  a  wailing  note; 

The  beauty  of  the  night  succeeds  the  day, 

But  sobs,  I  know  not  wherefore,  bind  my  throat. 


5° 


THE  GARGOYLE 

The  gaping  gargoyle  leaned  from  out  the  leads, 
A  break-neck  height  above  the  people's  heads 

That  in  the  market  hurried  to  and  fro. 
His  straining  feet  pressed  back  against  the  stones, 
His  ears  assaulted  by  the  jarring  tones 

Of  bells  that  swung  and  clamored  close  below. 

Astretch  he  was,  an  eager,  craning  beast, 

And  yet  he  bode  afar  from  people  and  from  priest, 

Saint  Simon,  pillared,  was  not  more  alone; 
Beyond,  the  nave  its  mighty  roof-beams  reared, 
There,  round  about,  in  guardian  wise  appeared 

A-many  Saints  in  a  thick  peopled  zone. 

But  the  scrawn  gargoyle  dwelled  remote  from  these, 
Facing  forever  north  to  blizzard  or  to  breeze; 
Wizened,    grotesque,    the    craftsman    fashioned 

him; 

So  that  same  craftsman,  in  that  age  of  strife, 
Perchance  fought  out  alone,  hard  pressed,  his  artist 

life, 

Staunch   amid    rabid   wars,   and   doctrines   very 
grim. 


A  TRUMPET  CALL 

Awake!   be  men,  and  fight  this  desperate  last  fight! 
Arm  ye  and  forth  at  once,  nor  wait  for  greater 

light; 
Ye  are  not  fools  and  weak,  confusing  wrong  and 

right. 

Arise!   look  forth  and  see  the  joined  battle  lie. — 
A  mortal  struggle  strain,  beneath  the  quailing  eye, 
With  peril  stretching  far,  and  danger  very  nigh. 

Awake!   Arise!    Advance!    Behold,  the  dawn  doth 

break, 

If  you  must  die  today,  your  thirst  for  honor  slake, 
And   in   the  fierce   forefront  of  war  your  ending 

make. 


THE  PASSION  FLOWER 

Blown  in  a  day  and  eager  for  the  Night, 

Her  fragile  petals  shiver  in  the  light, 

Her  tiny  tendrils  cling,  as  even  fingers  might. 

Wide  to  the  day,  her  burning  blossom,  bright 
In  the  sun,  yet  yearning  for  the  Night. 
Lo!   in  her  heart  the  cross  is  borne  upright. 
*     *     *     * 

So  with  the  burning  passion  I  requite 

Only  with  glances,  as  a  sister  might, 

Behold !   upon  its  path  the  Cross  looms  in  our  sight. 


. , 


PS 

3537 

S9736v 


